Thursday, March 13, 2014

(www.hamburglars.com)
The Misfits become the McFits. The Buzzcocks become the Buns-cocks. The Rezillos
become the ReGrillThose. Eddie and the Hot Rods become Lettuce and the Hot
Robbles. The Cramps become the Cramps-you-get-from-eating-too-many-Big Macs.
See, they’re a killer punk band, who all dress up like the Hamburglar, so I’m
making McDonalds puns!

(Magnetic South) Classic Medium-Fi Girls in the
Garage haunted house soundtrack music grown in Indiana in what must be some
kind of Children of the Corn situation. Sounding as much like the sounds of a
60s playground (with bad girls playing, natch) as it does a 60s teen dance, this
is so awesome that you know who LOVES this band? TsunaME!

(internetpork.com) As I suspected, the Porkers did shoot their pork load early
by having every living legend of weirdo art and sleaze featured in their first
few issues, but I am having just as much fun reading up more obscure designers
and rockers, and the comics, columns, and TV show/fumetti section just keep
getting better! Pork is Kosher! #14 has more of my friends in it than all the
yearbooks combined for my six years in high school!

(towerofdudes.bandcamp.com) Tower of Doo Doos! I like
ambitious, eclectic, gypsy punk, indie rock, whatever music as much as the next
accordion enthusiast, but the clunky lyrics, abrasive singing, and overall din
here does not float my gypsy boat, if gypsy’s have boats, which I guess they
could. Sorry if I offended any Roma. Kinda sorry, out of courtesy, not as a
reviewer who had to listen to this, if I offended anyone in the Dudes Tower.

(jeremyspencer.com) I am not down with pretentious “fans” who
insist on not liking the most popular stuff, beyond any logic or audio
evidence. If you love Nirvana, yet swear “Bleach” is better than “Nevermind,” then
you don’t love Nirvana or/and you are lying. There’s a thousand examples of
this, but the one that I am actually most sympathetic with is the absurd
argument that “Rumours” pales next to the Fleetwood Mac earlier stuff driven by
Peter Green and Jeremy Spencer’s blues sensibilities. Sure, it’s hard to rank anything
over “Rumours,” but I’ll be damned if I don’t kinda prefer to hear the odd play
between the blues enthusiasts and the more ambitious elements of the band.
While the once mysterious Green returned to the scene a few years back, Spencer
remained a mystery man for decades before sticking his no-longer-long-haired
head out of his turtle shell in the mid-00’s with some straight up blues, and
he followed it up a couple of years back with an album that added some
intimacy, folk, Americana, coffeehouse, and spiritualism into the slide guitar
mix. The new album continues with more mellow, grooving, beautiful, passionate
takes on American roots music. I love the fragile, yet strong and dedicated,
quality of Spencer’s mature voice. And he can still play! And dollars to
donuts, I bet this is better than the next Fleetwood Mac record!

(soundcloud.com/masonsummit) The cover photo of an adorable teenage
boy wielding a beautiful acoustic guitar and the skinniest jeans (or/and
skinniest legs) ever invented seems like it could be a fake photo taken by some
middle-aged band trying to represent something or another about youth, ambtion,
and beauty. But when you listen to this music, despite the glossy production
and mature musical sensibilities (that bounce from sunshine pop to bouncy rock
to coffehouse angst to jazzy Bread-like production pop) it’s obvious that this
is the product of a fresh, young talent who doesn’t yet know he’s not supposed
to believe he can try and succeed with every idea he has. Summit avoids, but
doesn’t reject, the gloriously worst aspects of teenage poetry, and most of his
lyrics balance sincerity and cleverness like a circus juggler. If black skinny
jeans will help me write songs this good I’m about to suck in my gut and going
for it.

(MAPL) Although “Nudie” is a name that certainly brings to mind
the glory days of Country and Western music, as glittering Nudie suits adorned
greats like Porter Waggoner and Faron Young (and I seem to remember Webb Pierce
caught in a rhinestone cobweb suit), it also invokes Nashville artifice and
excess. So the fact that this Canadian country troubadour whose lyrically
sublime songs seem spare, sincere, and poignant named himself after the
Ukrainian sparkle-suitmaker seems odd. In fact, the sincerity of the late
Canuck superpatriot Stompin’ Tom is brought to mind, so maybe Stompie would be
a better moniker. But names aside, this is one of the best country albums I’ve
heard in a long spell. During that brief moment in the 80s when it felt like
Dwight Yoakum, Randy Travis, George Strait, k.d. lang, and Lyle Lovett might
re-make the commercial country music industry to be all great again, this would
have fit right in, but in 2014 it’s a revelation! Stomp on, Nudie! In fact,
stomp in the nude, you earned it!

(awakeninadream.com) Dreamlike, but dreamlike in the sense of a dream you would
have if you fall asleep with the TV on and then the clock radio came on, but
tuned kinda between two stations, but you’re sleeping so hard that all this
outside, dissonant audio information is being processed as a sort of blissful dreamscape
soundtrack, that shouldn’t make sense mashed together, but through dream logic
it’s all good. This short song suite is not quite psychedelic or phreak pholk
bluesy or ambient (though it did remind me of KLF’s “Chill Out” LP at times),
but rather is basically your standard sleepwalking spiritual Eastern blues jam
cloud journey.

Friday, March 7, 2014

(facebook.com/TurncoatSyndicate) The star they are mourning is
named Kurdt and the coat they are turning is plaid and dirty, and the rock they
are ROCKING is vintage ’92! 92 on a scale
of 100!On an amp that goes up to 100! Well maybe not all that great or loud, but honestly, it’s
just nice to hear some straight up rocking out these days.

(Alive) At its heart this sophomore non-slump is as good as you’d
expect bluesy rock (erring on the blues side) to get. But at its fists, there’s
a few tracks here that just swing, rock and pummel, particularly the grooving
threat of an opener, “Get ‘Em,” and the slinky salute to “Mississippi
Drinkin’.” I might have spread these two out, as there are a few long stretches
of “damn it’s bluesy in here” happenin’ on the album, but you cant argue with
the impact of coming out the corner with a 1-2 punch combo. Consider me
conquered.

[GUEST REVIEW BY GENTLEMAN JOHN BATTLES] (Stag-O- Lee) Here's something different: a tribute
album featuring the artists that inspired the subject of said tribute! Rudi
Protrudi spent ten years rounding up several of his favorite Garage and Psych
legends to cover The Fuzztones' material, in their own inimitable styles. The
results should stop The Fuzztones' detractors, and Garage Nazis who
don't think the older guys can cut the mustard, dead in their tracks. Truth is,
even if you're not a Fuzztones fan, I think you'd be hard-pressed to find
fault with this album. Davie Allan, King of The Fuzz Guitar, appropriately,
kick-starts this whole mess with "Avalanche,’ actually a Link Protrudi and
The Jaymen track, but Davie Allan is the man with the power, and it doesn't pay
to mess with the man with the power, baby. He plays this number like it was
written for him. It’s a roaring, scorching fire, flippin' off the squares and stickin'
it to "The Man.” The Shadows of Knight are represented by Jimy Sohns and
their latter day bass player, as well as Rudi, and former Fuzztones guitarist,
Elan Portnoy. "I Never Knew" is what The Shadows of Knight SHOULD
sound like today. Sohns can still shout the Hell out of a good Garage Punker,
with the right backing. This track, and "Me Tarzan, You Jane" (featuring
Dick Taylor from The Pretty Things!!!) ooze misogyny and betrayal...the sound
of a man merely reclaiming his cajones,
lest anyone take it the wrong way. But, there's no shortage of balls here.
Sohns is hurling Molotov cocktails, doused in piss and vinegar. "Ward
81" is a monster mash-up, performed not only by The Pretty
Things, but also ably assisted by 80's Psych warriors Plasticland, and the
coup of the century, legendary Horror Host, Zacherley, to perform the
Preacher rap (I don't mean Hip Hop, though Run DMC were in the original video!),
taken from an Oral Roberts sermon (I've been told). He’s having a lot of
fun with it, diabolically dishing the drivel about the mentally ill
batting for Satan's team. Phil May, The Pretties' frontman, turns in a gritty,
feverish performance, while lead guitarist Dick Taylor, and even mid-period
Pretties' guitarist Peter Tolsen (who hadn’t played with Taylor in over 40
years), crank out a gritty, dark din worthy of "Get The Picture," the
Prettys’ acclaimed second album. The
Fuzztones have performed extensively in Israel, Rudi even recently doing a
recording session, there, so, why wouldn’t he turn to The Promised Land...FLORIDA.
Two original 60's Fla. Garage bands, The Tropics (who once shut down ONE
THOUSAND BANDS at the 1966 International Battle of The Bands at McCormick
Place in Chicago) and The Shy Guys (who actually kept on playing until
2008!), repaid a mitzvah to Rudi for
covering their songs, by covering his. Both band turn in stellar performances,
and each have about a year and a half to prepare for The Ponderosa Stomp. The
Fuzztones back their departed friend and guru, Sky Saxon on
"Get Naked" (previously released, with a cameo by Sky, on "Salt
For Zombies,” but this version features him on all lead vocals, an exhortation
to go wild in the streets, stark buck nekkid! Well? Come on, what's
stopping you?). "All The King's Horses" features many other great
friends of ours, The Electric Prunes, The Pretty Things, and the late, great
Sean Bonniwell from The Music Machine, and the late, great, Arthur Lee from
Love. The track originally appeared on the album "Braindrops," with
guest vocals from Bonniwell and Lee, though they were buried together in
the mix. On this version, their original vocals are separated for far greater
clarity, giving each a "solo" vocal, tastefully done, I might add.
The Electric Prunes turn in a blazing rendition that will surprise
absolutely no one who's heard the three outstanding studio albums and one,
equally strong, live CD that they've recorded since the turn of this century.
Wally Waller and John Povey from The Pretty Things kick in with their signature
"S.F. Sorrow" harmony vocals. Too many cooks? No, they're all cookin'
and it's TOO MUCH. But NO ONE is so much of too much than Question Mark! "
CH'EAH! KAZ, BABY!" ? and The Mysterians' "Action Speaks Louder
Than Words" reeks of bad attitude at it's best. The band is playing at
their peak (from which you can look down at Sherpa tribesmen and bands of Yeti),
with "Q" at his arrogant best. "It's what we call
"Tuff". It's TUFF, BABY !". Roctoberfreund,
Gary Burger of the monks turns in a song well-suited for him, "Hurt on Hol,"
with an arrangement that lovingly parrots " monk time." The
Strawberry Alarm Clock present a surprisingly aggressive sounding
"Charlotte's Remains", utilizing the same Psychedelic studio trickery
of their salad days, with more of an edge. They put out a CD of mostly remakes,
recently, but, what the Hell, it still sounds great. A new CD is on the way,
we're told. Gonn, one reformed 60's Punk outfit that always delivers the goods,
doesn't disappoint with "Shame on You" and ''Hallucination Generation."
Lead Singer Craig Moore also joins unholy forces with Davie Allan on
"She's Wicked," one of several uncontested highlights of this
collection. The Vagrants (minus Leslie West…there's a very funny story about
that in the liner notes) sound virile enough to be the unfortunate protagonist
of this song. They had a side order of Testosteroni when they dined at Vagino's
Pizzeria prior to this session. The Wallflowers, featuring The Pretties' bassist
and gifted Vocalist, Wally Waller, push the psychedelic envelope further on
"Look For The Question Mark," but, what better way to close things
than with a nod to early Heavy Rock. Confidentially, not a big fan of Vanilla
Fudge. Don't hate 'em…but, Rudi warned me about their seemingly unlikely inclusion
(though not if you understand that The Fuzztones are more than a "Pebbles"
paint by numbers band), assuring me it was a standout track. Boy, he wasn’t
kidding! "Black Box" finds The Fudge heavier, tighter, and SCARIER
than any band has a right to be. If you liked "DOA" by Bloodrock, but
found it plodded along too much for your taste, get a load of THIS good shit! All
the spooky vibe inherent in early Iron Butterfly collides with the stop on a
dime tendencies of...well, of Vanilla Fudge. Wow.

(Market Square) I’m not saying this beats the
Beatles at Beatleishness, but I’d rather listen to these 4 minutes of poppy
preciousness 100 times in row than to have to watch another second of that sour
sounding McCartney/Ringo thing on CBS last month.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

(New!) After more than a year DNC completes their quartet of themed Eps with the best theme yet...a Drivin N Cryin themed record! If you were a fan of the band's vintage melodic Southern Rock n Roll-reliant, Americana-adjacent, well crafted Kinney kuts, you will dig this slick slices of sound!

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

(Chicken Ranch) Should change their name to “Starlings, TEN” because this country
gravy-slathered serving of barn rockin’ rural Americana (with tight originals
that stand up to the Bill Monroe and Big Joe Turner covers) is a perfect 9.9
plus .1!

(Scarlet) Both powerful and fragile, Liz Lenten’s voice is weirdly wonderful,
and her band reunites the long separated cousins Americana country and spare jazz.
Haunting! Seriously…like “call the Ghostbusters” haunting!

(www.gradeschoolrecordings.com)
Daniel Fromberg’s zine is a spare, fresh, honest presentation of music he
likes, musicians he wants to talk to and big color reproductions of art he
likes. You are still being critical
if you like everything!

(Pioneers Press) I suppose every book of affirmations and advice can be
read as poetry, and every self-help guide is a chapbbok of sorts, but this one
makes it clear that mantras like “let the assholes be assholes,” “you wont find
what you need on the Internet,” “everyone good is necessary,” and “read more
than you drink” belong on the poetry page as much as on the poster with a
hanging-in-there kitty or the bumper sticker. Then again, maybe bumper stickers
are just really thin, sticky chapbooks.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

(www.skeletonsinthepiano.com) This sounds like a rock ‘n’ roll
haunted house from the future, not because it’s futuristic, but because Tom
Waits, John Doe and Tony Iommi would have to be dead and hauntin’ away to get
these spooky sounds.

(Pioneers Press) This fascinating peek inside the world of underground West
Coast mushroom foraging is a stellar piece of creative nonfiction
writing/investigative journalism that puts the fun in fungi by painting vivid
pictures of the pickers, dealers, and connoisseurs that make this industry feel
like a mix between the drug trade, the survivalist movement, and Dungeons and Dragons (the latter for the
fanaticism, not the fantasy, as this is dirt-under-the fingers real). You don’t
have to be a picker to pick this slim volume up and love it.

(Mend My Dress Press) All six issues of Osa Atoe’s short-lived/should-be-legendary
zine are collected here in a handsome paperback. There are so many things I love
about this zine, and the most formal and beautiful one is its pure zine-ishness.
Collages…smudgy Xeroxes…typewriter action… handwritten stuff…cut-n-paste design…every
article laid out in a different style…this was as pure and classic looking a
zine as possible. Another amazing aspect is the way Osa combines contemporary per-zine
aesthetic/content with the kind of lengthy, insightful, smart interviews that invoke
the glory days of music zines (engaging with punk ‘n’ roll celebs like Mick
Collins and Poly Styrene, d.i.y. superheroes like Trash Kit, and artists, fans,
and best of all, a black female tattoo artist elder with a thrilling history).
She also covers the history of black punk rockers with an eye towards early
punk and hardcore, but also a broad, inclusive definitions of “punk” (she embraces
RuPaul, Vaginal Davis, and even “black weirdos” like Sun Ra). That
openmindedness is what really made this zine so magical: despite boldly
tackling racial, queer, d.i.y., outsider, gender, and scene politics issues,
Osa never repeats the dogma or clichés of each movement. Instead, she remains
her own woman, and there’s genuinely nothing more political (or interesting)
than that.

(Birdcage Bottom) Loud is sort of a
Southern, inbred cousin of Nix Comics,
except instead of these rock ‘n’ roll tales having fantasy horror elements (give
or take a few a few zombies, fairies and freaks), it’s all about real life horror.
And instead of one writer employing a bunch of illustrators, here one
inkslinger gets similarly-themed tales of debauchery from a bunch of writers (primarily
musicians, most from acts in the periphery of the Confederacy of Scum-family of
bands, who mix punk, Southern Rock, and evil). This formula could be a bad one
if Jamie Vayda wasn’t so versatile, his inky amblings going from cartoony to darkly
realistic to twisted to funny to psychedelic. Stories of murderous alcoholics,
drug-fueled serial killing fantasies, huckster daredevilism, backwoods
deformities, Karaoke nightmares, and ill-advised forays into Apollo Amateur
Night make this new series one to look out for, look forward to, and to gloriously
dread.

(Nix)
Another issue of this horror/rock n roll anthology, with some serious highs and
lows. The best things include a return of King Merinuk to these pages, with some
tasty prison violence, and a great Behind
the Music-meets-Creature Features
story with dynamic artwork by Rich Trask, plus there’s another fine adventure
by the Question Mark-meets-Kolchak recurring character The Vicar. On the down
side, yet another sold-soul-to-Satan rock-n-roll story, which is not a theme
that needs to be abandoned, per se, but this one is marred by unreadable
boldface font. But overall, a mighty issue. Like EC comics, which were mostly
written by one author, Ken Eppstein scripts most of these comics, and his wordy
narratives (very EC-like), odd rhythm, and twist endings might be a weakness if
they seemed to same-ish, but there is something genuinely strange about his
writing, which means that this book never becomes a hacky cliché fest. Long
live Nix, or if not, Long Shamble Nix’ Zombie!